Forever Connected
by lalalei
Summary: Storytellers and children alike have one other person in mind when they think of Peter Pan. It is because of them together that the story will never be forgotten.


_"What is Neverland, without James Hook?"_

_-Jas. Hook, Captain (Hook, 1991 film)_

Peter Pan was not like other children in many ways, but all children love stories—especially stories of themselves. Even when Margaret was well and grown, too old to come with him to Neverland, he visited her window now and then to listen to the stories she told her children. He knew if they wanted, they would come with him like the ones before, but in the meantime he came for the stories. Stories of Indians, pirates, and adventure, and—always—Peter Pan.

There was a reason he came back. Neverland, and Peter in particular, had a habit of forgetfulness as soon as an adventure was over. For as soon as one ended it was time for another to begin, and there was no point in regretting or even remembering the past. Thus, every story was as if it was brand new to him, and he delighted in the same old tales even as new ones were added.

Years went by, but to Peter it was the blink of an eyelash. One day, all too soon, he returned to find the window closed. Peter tried to pry it open, for he was too thoughtless to knock, but it was stuck fast. He could see through the glass that the light was out, and he heard no children laughing or even snoring in their beds.

The house was completely empty, and Peter cried. But soon he shook the tears away and behaved as if he'd never cried in his life, for sad things do not cling to the truly happy, innocent, and heartless. Peter Pan tuned away, quietly, and noticed other houses lining the streets with the lights still on.

He grinned, and crowed at the cleverness of him. He would find other windows, other storytellers, other stories. And, if he was lucky, stories of himself.

###

Peter found many windows and many stories, some even of him. But the most curious thing, to him at least, was the storytellers' and even the children's tendency to associate his adventures with another. In the moments he remembered the stories, usually just after he heard them, he found his mind drawn to one figure in particular. It was true, sometimes he thought of Tinker Bell, and other times the Lost Boys, Indians and mermaids. Once he even thought of Wendy and her brothers.

But most often—apart from himself, of course—Peter Pan found himself remembering the form of Captain James Hook. The storytellers were vivid in their descriptions of the man. Sometimes they were so clear that Peter could see them as he closed his eyes to listen, and he shivered at the images. And while some accounts of Hook varied between stories, there were certain details that were always kept the same.

The feather-plumed hat. The scarlet coat. Conversing in the Queen's tongue. An obsession with good form. The meticulously curled hair, whether it be black or white. The forget-me-not eyes that turned red as he killed. Gutting those who displeased him. A most desperate need of a mother.

But the sticking point was the metal hook that gave the captain his namesake, replacing the hand that Peter cut off. Peter could no longer remember whether it was the right hand or left, and, indeed, neither could some of the storytellers, but the main thing was that the hook was _there_. It seemed odd to think that the man at one point had two hands, so famous and striking was the hook. Peter shivered with the children as he listened to the part where Hook clawed him twice, pawing the air with the iron instrument before hitting home.

He had forgotten how he'd gotten those scars, but for now, at least, he would remember. Naturally Peter would forget again, but of everything he forgot it was the visage of Hook that stayed with him the longest. Sometimes the image was comical, other times terrifying, but always it was an image of Hook and Pan in the moments he closed his eyes.

And Peter realized one night that while many never forgot him, Peter Pan, they could not forget James Hook as well. More than that, they connected the two together as if they were destined to never part. He had noticed it one night as a small child was being tucked into bed.

"Mother," said the child, and Peter grimaced at the word, "will you tell me a story about Peter Pan and Captain Hook?"

His mother had nodded, and when she had finished Peter noted that in her telling the pirate captain had not even died. Peter had won the fight admirably, but Hook survived the crocodile, living to fight another day and clash swords with Pan for eternity. Always, Peter Pan and Captain James Hook, fighting to the death that never came.

And so it was that when the mother closed the book and turned away, the child insisted the light be left on in case Hook came for them, too. His mother agreed, for mothers are both caring and practical, and don't want to sort through nightmares come morning. And they know more than anyone that a pirate captain is feared by small children everywhere.

Peter watched the child sleep for a few moments, then turned away in thought. _He _had never heard of Hook before tonight, that he was certain, but there was something to him that made him pause. Was the pirate really so renowned to be mentioned in conjunction with himself?

And if Captain Hook had known of his fame, what would he think? Would he delight that children hid under the covers at the mention of his name? Would he exult in the cleverness of him as he laid the poison, or a bomb, always a trap, for Pan? Would he be happy or heartbroken—pirates had hearts, Peter knew, as they bled—to be forever associated with the Boy Who Never Grew Up?

Peter didn't know, and in another moment he forgot Hook entirely.

But he would remember as soon as he heard the story again…the story every mother tells her children, and the story those children will someday tell their children.

The story of Peter Pan and Captain James Hook.


End file.
